


Crystals Didn't Show Me The Way Out

by ThatSoChangeableChick



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Loki Does What He Wants, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSoChangeableChick/pseuds/ThatSoChangeableChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Read the Notes.<br/>Thanks :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> As an avid fan of the new Amazing Spider-Man movies; I've watched them several times, much to the amount of heart-shattering it has caused me. A bit that always got me was the first dozen or so scenes leading up to and following Uncle Ben's death. To me, at least, Peter seems, so close to using his newfound powers for his own gain, for using it against those that have wronged him. In the end, it's Aunt May and Gwen Stacey that help him get out of his rut so I decided to write the story of what would happen if he didn't have Aunt May or Gwen Stacey; cause I'm masochastic like that.  
> And Loki and Tony Stark got thrown in the mix because I love those two assholes. I hope you enjoy :D

Peter couldn't say he was skipping as he left school but damn was he close. It was mostly to brandish how many fucks he did not have for his current suspended status. Once a straight A student didn't mean he was staying one; no manner how many pokes of his teachers to stay awake during class. He had slightly more important things to think about, rather than Flash's bloodied face as the ambulance whirred away. Peter shook his head, muttering “I told him 'not now'.” He kicked a loose rock as a something tickled his brain. “Thank god,” he mumbled, shoving his black hoodie over his face and strutting into an alleyway.

He yanked his mask up over his nose, already licking his lips in anticipation. Peter clambered up the wall once his backpack was secure, leaping over the roof banister to take a look at whatever mayhem awaited him. He was looking for a good fight. Something more satisfying then punching Flashes 'daringly handsome' mug -- like who said 'daringly' anymore. He wanted to use his creations this time, escape for a few minutes in the rush of adrenaline. Flash was boring in comparison to the rush of live 'my life is on the line' danger; pathetically so. During Flashes beat up all he could see was his electronics teacher giving him this 'I expected more from you' look.

Peter had honestly been awaiting the slap on the wrists for a while already. He had already trashed the cafeteria that one time when he had some rich preppy girl gossip over how very 'poor orphan' he seemed with her giggling hyenas five tables down and to the left.

It was sunny and humid. Sweat already gliding over his spine, he cracked his neck as a plume of smoke rose in the distance. It came from the working district, mostly abandoned if he remembered the map correctly. A perfect place for a villainy liar, very cliche but theses guys more than often were. He slapped his gray cap over his hair, yanking his hood back up and shoving his Aunt May's sunglasses on.

Peter smirked; he could use a good fight. With a running start he leaped off the building, shooting webs to the nearby skyscraper with a holler as wind plastered his clothes to his skin and there was nothing but air to keep him from smacking to earth. A truck honked as he swung before it; Peter laughed “Get your own lane, I'm swinging here!” With a loud 'whoop' he pivoted from the emptying streets to a jostled crouch opposite the dispersing plume of smoke.

He could faintly hear sirens in the distance. Peter smiled; he was obviously in the right place then. Now, all he had to do was figure out what was going on before 5-0 came to investigate. Those guys were no fun. They didn't even accept advice and tips from their friendly neighborhood vigilante, and yes, at this point he was owning it. There was a screech of metal on metal and Peter locked eyes on the figure flung from the warehouse into the wall of the building he was observing from. That looked like...Peter cocked an eyebrow, peering as the debris clearing to see the strewn trembling metallic form...Doom. And wasn't that just one of the most unoriginal super-villain names ever. But considering Mega Minds quotes; was Doom seen as a super-villain, he didn't seem a big fan of flashing presentation. That was more of an Iron Man thing, and honestly that was also a very unoriginal name but at least that one could be credited to the tabloids and not to hours in front of a mirror testing civilians' screams ('It's DOOM! DOOM is here!' – never not failed to crack him up). Okay so maybe Peter wanted to believe this is what they did.

Thing was; villains made the schedules. No hero attacked the villains first. And wasn't this all black and white: like a zebra. So anyway, whoever was attacking Doom was to put it simply; either new to the game or a new brand of hero not afraid to get their hands dirty. There was also the chance that it was another villain since Peter doubted there really is honor amongst thieves. His final theory was proved correct when a tall figure garbed in forest and gold stalked from the hole in the warehouse. It was Loki, God of Chaos and Fire if wiki was to be believed, also almost destroyer of Manhattan. Apparently anyway, Peter had been away, it wasn't too long after that that...well, okay.

Loki halted before Doom, who was shifting in his seat, unable to get up, “No matter the metals you wear; none will enable you to amount to anything worth remembering. Your pathetic mortality will wane every silver from your skin. Until you will remain as powerless as I see you now.” Peter smothered his whistle because what back talk, hiding his smirk underneath his confusion. Peter could hear the pleasure in Loki's words and he was feeling a strange uneasiness as he contemplated either bowing before him, or fleeing while he still could. Hang on, wasn't Loki being 'punished' for his crimes on his home planet? Or had the news lied to his face again? “-me. Where are the pillars?” Aaw damn it, he probably missed some ace threats/put downs.

Peter should probably be taking notes. And what were these pillars? Considering who they both were – villains proficient in, so called, 'magic'. Then these pillars must be magical related. Perhaps a gateway to fairyland. Peter exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead. He felt like such an idiot for even thinking these things.

A sharp stab across his delicate senses and Peter flipped backwards to avoid the dagger to his nose. The towering figure of Loki stood before him, bright eyes sharp and focused and intense and completely handling the bullshit meter. “And what abomination of this vile, useless ball are you meant to be?”

At least his insults were original. Peter straightened, he didn't want to get badly maimed immediately so he shrugged. Loki cocked a fine eyebrow, arms carefully and delicately folded as if he were waiting for a hair appointment. Peter licked his lips, shrugging again, “a mistake.” Peter wasn't certain why he said that out loud, so he shrugged again, ignoring the clasp in his throat.

Loki's eyes narrowed to slits. Wasn't Peter supposed to be bolting about now? Considering Loki was like top villain round here; he even followed Mega Minds definition of super villains: presentation! “And what are you exactly?” his head was tilted slightly in question.

Peter shrugged, once, twice and bit jerkily on the third when realizing his shoulders had never come down from castling his head. “A mistake,” he repeated, than shook his head because he was not some one word wonder-boy. “I should have died but I guess the human body is sturdier than I thought.” Peter licked his lips, heart racing, “and you're Loki.” Loki's lips twisted as if he were being complimented. “How does your physiology differ from humans physiology?” Loki brows furrowed slightly. Peter felt his cheeks heat, his hands were already clenched in his pockets at this point and he rocked on his heels. “Just curious, you are part of the only species of extraterrestrials that have come to earth. You also look a lot like humans but obviously your not.”

Peter should probably shut up now. It would help if Loki said something. Peter tended to babble when he was nervous. God he was sweating. Loki narrowed his orbs, and then ever so slowly he smirked, stepping one daunting step forward. “How about a trade then? My answers for your own,” that sounded fair enough, and Peter was bored lately so yeah, anything could be better.

Peter nodded, “sure” he muttered. And Loki's smirk widened. Peter really hoped he hadn't made a mistake. Loki perched on the edge of a high-backed elegant throne-like chair which had literally just appeared from nowhere. Except it couldn't be nowhere, “did you take the chair from a pocket? Like a pocket in the dimension or world or something, maybe plain. Is it the ability to connect between this world and the pocket that makes this look like...” he gestured to the chair, “magic.”

Loki smirked, abruptly sipping tea and then placing it upon a round wooden table which popped into existence. One moment the air was empty and then there is was, suddenly full. Loki flicked his wrist and arched his eyebrows, “well are you going to stand there all day catching flies, or do you have plans to sit?” Peter blinked, stifling the blubber that threatened to spill from his lips and jostled to sit onto the metal, crisscrossed chair that had popped behind him.

"Okay,” he nodded, swallowing thickly as he sat on a magicked chair. Peter fidgeted, abruptly stopped, than carried on hopefully more gracefully. “Um, so...” he was sweating and he wasn't certain his voice hadn't cracked.

Loki's head was tilted in consideration, lips curved into a perfect smirk. He sipped his tea and Peter contemplated his choice of wearing layers. “You are mostly correct considering your diminished intelligence,” Loki traced a long finger round his tea cup. Peter wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult. In answer he gave a weak smile which was completely lost due to his mask. Loki's eyes brightened, folding his knees gracefully, “so do you have a name? Or am I to call you 'Delinquent' as the papers have named you?” Apparently Gods read the morning papers now. What an image.

Peter snorted nervously, waving a hand, “Don't know how they came up with it. I'm...” It was alright to give his identity right? It wasn't as if things could get worse. If anything it would stop the boredom. Peter pulled his mask down, and slid his glasses off, “I'm Peter.” He shrugged, “Hi,” he greeted because he was awkward and apparently he had to preach the fact.

If anything Loki settled back into his chair further, dangerous smirk in place. Peter insides clenched; he probably shouldn't have done that. “I have a proposition for you Peter. If you are willing to listen,” It's not like he had anything better to do. And was Loki always playing considerate to others willingness? Peter doubted it – that whole you were born to be ruled fiasco gave it away. So whatever he was going to ask, Loki wanted it. Peter nodded quickly. Loki's smirked widened to show teeth, he flicked his wrist and a teacup appeared before Peter. Peter murmured his thanks as the sirens grew in the distance. Loki seemed perfectly relaxed, “There is something I desire, something which has alluded me quite some time and I would like to correct this, with your help.” Loki sipped his tea delicately.

Peter swallowed, ignoring the urge to wipe the sweat from his neck. Loki continued, “Two objects to be precise,” his forest eyes sharpened, intensity never waning. Was this what it was like to be in the presence of royalty? Or just Loki? “Both of which your assistance is required to acquire them.”

Peter licked his lips, averted his eyes and sat cross legged on the rickety chair. “You said it's a proposition, what will I get in return?” his heart was hammering but if push came to shove he could probably get away. Hopefully anyway.

Loki's smirk died to a softer smile. “Recognition and purpose,” he enunciated, and then he waved a hand dismissively, “Perhaps I will also answer questions I deem worthy.”

Recognition and purpose, why would Loki think he wanted those? Okay maybe he was a little lonely lately, maybe he did get into a lot of fights but that didn't mean...no, he had to think about what he would be doing. Not what he had already done. Frankly he would be working for a resident God of Chaos, meaning it would be interesting and dangerous and get him on people's radars in the wrong way. But it would be 'Delinquent' getting on the radar in the wrong way, maybe he could exert his bad qualities while working for Loki and make his real life better. That was such an skewed logic. Peter rubbed his forehead. When did he become such an idiot? This is 'you are all worthless' Loki.

"You may return to me with an answer,” Peter's head snapped up. He had forgotten Loki was watching, probably observing him as if he were a subject behind glass. Loki would not look good with Albert Einstein hair, or big round glasses; Peter decided. “I will wait no longer than the morrow at noon,” he smirked, “Chaos awaits no one after all.”

Car doors slammed as a couple of police officers chatted between them. Loki paused, twirling a long finger and the table rose into the air, drifted over the roofs railing and suddenly dropped, as if it remembered the presence of gravity. Loki smirked at the resounding crash and alarmed shouts, “If you fear innocents will come to harm if you agree that is not the case nor what I require your assistance for.” And in a wisp of emerald and obsidian he vanished.

Peter burned with questions mostly formed over; how did he do that? And was there a scientific equation? There had to be somewhere, or maybe he could create one? Because the damn thing had floated at the direction of a finger. He shook his head, peering over the edge of the roof, seeing the two officers unhooking the fallen table from the roof of their vehicle with grumbles and sweat beading on their foreheads. Peter stifled laughter. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. If anything it would be interesting.

He slipped the glasses back on, covered his face and galloped across the buildings, blasting the police radio on his headset. He had a man to catch. And now that school had tossed him out he had more time for himself. Me, myself and I. Hey it was already feeling overcrowded. Landing atop an apartment building he contemplated checking up on Dr. Connors, he hadn't seen him since...well, it had to be a month or two already. What would his Dad's old partner think of him teaming up with resident mischief maker? Probably nothing positive. Then again, no one thought anything about Peter anymore.

Loki said he didn't want him to harm others. If the god wanted to hurt people he could do probably do so with a flick of his wrist. No he needed something only Peter could do. Or something Peter could do and Loki couldn't do. That raised the question of what the hell could Peter do that a freaking God couldn't. This was also Loki as a factor, whose hand was dipped in magic waters. Peter really wanted to bombard Loki with inappropriate questions about his magic because come on, Science! And even if Loki got annoyed, well, he had asked Peter to help him.

So overall, Peter really wanted to team up with ole green lights but would he be able to live with himself after was the question. It's not like things could get worse and Peter wanted to do something exciting again, to feel the danger again. Maybe this deal could be that for him. It could also bring his public demise but 'Delinquent' was such an unoriginal name anyway.

The sun glinted off the specs and it was suddenly quite clear how very late he was, and how very in trouble he was going to be. He secured his backpack, mentally saying adios to his school books and swinging his way to the messier parts of the neighborhood. On the way; he nodded to Stark Tower, stole some bright daffodils and highjacked a man on his cell from his demise as a rapping pancake. He bestowed the flowers to the man. Aah, c'est la vie.

Peter landed in an alleyway not to far from his destination, his throat already tight as he shoved his mask, webs and glasses in his pack. “You got this Peter, you got this, just suck it up, tell them the truth, it'll be okay, well as much as the truth that sounds plausible...” a swagger in his step he bypassed the teens smoking at the front porch. Each greeting him with curled lips, and smoke trailing from between them. Peter nodded a carefree yet downcast greeting and tried not to choke – it was hell on his senses. Peter had already learned that these guys should be treated as rabid dogs: never look them in the eyes or they might turn snappy.

Peter entered, a bell atop the door signaled his arrival and a few heads turned up from around the pool table only to lower at how very uninteresting he was. Peter was down with that. “And where have you been?” Mr. Arnold had to be nearly seven foot, dressed in a way too tight white t-shirt and army pants. Peter doubted though that he had ever been to the army. It was mainly due to his complete OCD which could have been a blessing when running a group home but was actually a hell-brought curse. You know, if anyone wanted the specifics.

Peter shrugged, jostling his pack higher up his shoulder, “around you know, clearing my head.” He tried to smile, “It's been a bit of a long day-”

"Yes I heard.” Aah, shucks. Well he was expecting this. Mr. Arnold's arms were crossed, biceps rippling, “follow me,” and that was that. No chance to explain, no inquiry. Just stone-faced, 'you are wasting my time and ruining my groove' vibe. Peter decided he should be thankful considering he had no idea what he was about to say. People were beginning to expect the worst from him, and maybe that would be a blessing in time. No expectations to fulfill, no pressure, no prospects, no hope. Yeah, he was gonna love this. Kerching, jackpot!

Peter trudged to catch up with Mister Arnold's long strides, “Come on man-”

"Do not call me 'man'. You are to refer to me as Mr. Arnold at all times, and anything less will receive punishment. Is that clear?” Peter rolled his tongue to stifle his misplaced remark and nodded. “Well?”

Peter exhaled through his nose, hands in pockets, “Yes Mr. Arnold,” he chimed. Mr. Arnold led him through the narrow white-washed corridors, past the communal bathroom and the few door-less bedrooms for the guys who had stayed there longer. Peter never wanted any of those rooms. For one; they stank of cannabis and even the residue scent was enough to set his mind just a little bit higher. Which actually probably wouldn't be too bad.

"Get your hands out of your pockets and straighten your back this isn't a whore house.” Peter didn't want to think about Mr. Arnold in a whore house, or even how long he would have had to have been there to notice a 'whore house' gait. So he didn't, he wasn't thinking about it. Peter hid his rolled eyes, slid his hands out his pockets and straightened his spine just sarcastically enough he would be able to sleep at night. Peter was rather proud of his own invisible mini middle fingers.

Mr. Arnold arrived at the edge of the House, halting at a perfect 90 degree angle from the clawed door Peter was becoming way too familiar with. He grimaced at it, “Is this really necessary?” he partially whined. In return he was afforded a stony look and raising of the nose. Peter didn't like this, not at all, sure the private area made it a bit better but not by much.

Mr. Arnold gestured cuttingly towards the door, clasped his hands firmly at the small of his back and waited. Peter sighed heavily. Chest puffed like a preening cockatoo, he says, “Set your kit at you feet, it will be inspected once you enter the Tranquil room.” Aah yes, Peter always felt tranquil when he was ordered inwards. “The quantity and quality of unlawful objects in your possession will determine the duration of your stay. Is this clear?” Mr. Arnold questioned, eyes set forward and unwavering to any sentimental values such as love, trust and or common decency. Peter just knew that when he got out of there the guards would have finished his Yorkie bar, and he had been saving that.

Decency my ass...

Instead of mentioning these thoughts, some remnant of self preservation kicked in because he was starving and he wanted those few scraps. So he exhaled deeply, gazing over the ray of setting sun splayed upon the corridor wall, inhaled the scent of sweaty males, peeled paint and rotten food and set his pack by his boots. Mr. Arnold patted him down thoroughly, Peter tried not to fidget because no one wanted a repeat of last time and was shoved, without reason he might add, inside the room.

Peter did not stop his scowl as a the thick steel door slammed shut and locked behind him, casting him in darkness. Peter will have you know it is no otherworldly adventure to unleash his other senses. It pretty sucked, especially because some guy had peed in here since last time. “Figures,” he groaned, scuffing the crusted 'pillows' under his boot. They're not really 'pillows' more sponges of sweat and grit who had taken on the density of rocks. Peter's sure they were very inviting hundreds of teenage delinquents ago.

He turned to face the slit that allowed light at the top of the door, hearing the faint clicks of Mr. Arnold stealing his pack to share it's contents with the others. This sucked, it all sucked. Peter loosened his jaw with a knack, licked his lips and sniffed out the cleanest corner. It wasn't much and there was a tear in one of the 'pillows' which Peter did his best to shred completely as he parked against the BO stinking walls.

Okay, it wasn't the Queen's castle, it wasn't some palace of untold riches and magical doers that Loki no doubt lived in. In fact it seemed to be the rundown brother of an Insane Asylum’s padded room. It was rather fitting actually, preparing them all for the real deal which would no doubt arrive a few years down the road. And Peter had been in here a few times mostly because the other guys here ran in packs, similar to a very aggressive episode of animal kingdom with many pissing contests, who did not like the idea of a guy (himself) unaffiliated. It created 'chaos' or some shit.

Peter wiped his nose, bowing into his knees in an attempt to preserve heat, it would be a cold night and while the room was stifling it wouldn't remain so for long. Hood cradling his head, he picked the blood from beneath his nails. Aunt May would be disappointed in him, and Uncle Ben...Peter laughed softly to himself. Well, Uncle Ben would be close to stealing all his tools until Shame was scrawled on Peter's forehead. He gnashed his teeth...it really wasn't so bad then, that they weren't here.

Food came about an hour late and Peter just stared at it, unwilling to move when his eyes were being stupid and heavy. Lights out followed with many shouts and bangs on the walls from guards to 'Shut it!' Those guys always knew how to create a peaceful vibe fit for heavy slumber. At sometime the crickets voices rose in volume and Peter nibbled some dry slice of bread before it could be eaten by anything else in there with him. He drank the stale water with a wince, coughing silently into his elbow – he didn't want to guards on his ass for being awake. And tried, really tried to fall asleep with his head balanced on one wall. Peter really doesn't know if he succeeded.

He guess he did at some point because next he knows there's light shadowing the yellowing 'pillows' and a hasty clang as the heavy steel door was unlocked. “Rise and shine Parker,” another caretaker he really doesn't remember at 5 in the morning says. “Oh, there you are, probably should have told you Mandez puked in that corner a few weeks back.” Peter groans in response, clambering to his feet and wiping the crust from his eyes. “Go hit the showers Parker,” the caretaker nods down the starkly lit hallway.

Peter blinks since the caretaker barricades the door with long arms and a peculiar look on his face. Peter's sense thumps like a dull heartbeat as the caretaker's gaze roams over him distinctly. Peter stops, his stomach flipping to reveal an out pour of flaming anger massing till the tips of his clenched fingers. The caretaker opens his lips, peculiar expression now explained as a mixture of predator and promise. “Off you go Parker,” the caretaker swipes his thumb at the corner of his own quirked lips and waddles back down the hallway as if King Kong dangles between his thighs.

Peter stuffs his fists into his pockets, jaw trembling with what had to be anger and heat prickling up his neck. He swallows thickly. He's not going to shower now that's for certain. He can already tell this day is going to be excellent as the others, if not more so. Yeah, what a time to be alive.

Peter skips a shower, only changing his shirt from the packs of institutionalized ones in the cabinets in the changing room. They itch but the smell does mask the stench of teenage BO, so things could be worse. At least he's got his sense of humor. He splashes water on his face, wiping the dark bags underneath his eyes, and skedaddles away from the stripping yawning fellas. “Parker!” comes the newly familiar call of Mr. Arnold.

Peter freezes at the doorway to the communal showers, stumbling as some hippo-like guy elbows him in the cheek. Peter is honored he got a love pat from such an rare and dim-witted creature. He prods the growing bruise and winces, “How can I help you Mr. Arnold?” he deadpanned. Mr. Arnold resembles a man whose chest was inflated to inhumanly proportions by overzealous kids.

Mr. Arnold jaw quavers as he tastes the words and then he says, “Count yourself lucky Parker.” Peter always does. Mr. Arnold's strong jaw tightens, “Your headmaster has contacted us with the requirements for your reintegration. Which state that you are required to apologize to one Mr. Thompson at his return from Midtown Hospital.” His face is hard as always and Peter wonders how Mr. Arnold looks when he's constipated because when that happens he has to be popping some serious blood vessels. “Are these instructions clear Parker?”

Peter nods solemnly, well not really but he is tired so it seems like it, which is returned by a firm nod, and thereby after a bulldozing of his shoulder as Mr. Arnold strides into the communal showers and breaks up 'unruly' behavior. This is what his life has become...Look at his life, look at his choices. Peter has only himself to blame.

He tracks into the cafeteria, dodging a huddle of guys making smooching noises in his direction. Peter promises to humiliate them all to such an extent the resident God of Chaos will whistle his approval. He snatches some slices of bread from the counters, stuffing it in his mouth before some guys on kitchen duty can notice. The menu was obviously not planned with freaky mutated teens in mind and Peter constantly felt this gnaw of hunger in his gut, so yeah, what? he stole here and there.

He slips out into the courtyard, it's small, and resembles a prison yard if Orange is the New Black is anything to go by. Peter digs his fingers tips into his scalp, shucking up his hood. He's really being a dubby downer lately, get your act together, where's your wit? Where's your sarcasm? Peter expects more from himself after 17 years of constant inner snark. “Oi Parker inside, now!” Course he'd always had somebody on his side then.

Breakfast starts soon enough, packs migrating from the showers onto marked tables with howls and hollers, and variations of chest bumping. Peter tries not to stare at the strange species in their natural habitat, fails spectacular and receives smooches in return and various enactments on performing the 'special hug'. Or maybe that guy just really likes that bottle? Peter doesn't judge.

After shoveling in some questionable grub, he awaits the call of his name and makes sure to stay out of everyone's way. “Parker!” a short burst of thrill in his chest and he trots up to the main desk, tapping out a beat which is silenced by a furrowed glare from behind a clipboard.

"Sorry,” he mutters absently, “So what am I doing today? I can do some heavy lifting, take a walk around the block and back, I'm good at outdoor things boss.” He grins toothily, all teeth no eyes. Mr. Arnold is, as always, less than impressed by his facial area, which at this point has to be a goddamn relief.

He doesn't even get a corner of the eye which can only be proof of how well he is behaving. Peter's chest doesn't do this weird sinking thing either. Army wannabe slides sheets of paper towards and checks something off his clipboard. “You need to visit at least 5 establishments in search of work, they are each to fill out one line of this form.” Would you look at that Mr. Arnold is capable of engaging with another's eyes. “Is that clear?”

Lips pulled back, teeth set he nods and says faintly, “Yes sir.” And Mr. Arnold continues with his job, reading off another delinquent. Peter gets handed his pack and some customary bus tickets by another caretaker. Security checks over his forms and amidst eye rolls he makes it out the front door where other guys are slipping out their cigarettes and huffing and puffing down the street.

Peter rolls out his shoulders, grinning up at the bright blue sky with the dwindle of clouds. Ain't this the life? He's off swinging into the cold mist hovering around the tops of skyscrapers, not a care in the world and a holler in his throat. Wind and sun whizzing into his eyes and so he lowers his head and skimps into the first alleyway he notices, clambering up the walls.

During that time in the room of Tranquility, it became clear what Peter would chose. And come on, what type of hot blooded teenager could blame him? It's not as if anyone else would give him a chance of a lifetime. How many people could say that Loki ( _The_ Loki, literally a God) asked them to help him with something he couldn't? It's just not that, he wants this; he wants some adventure, some turmoil, some thrill, just something. It's been so long since he felt anything positive. So what do you do? You make a change. A big freaking change, he will probably regret but what the hell? It'll be his to regret, his choice, his experience. It can't be that bad.

He'll be fine. Better than how things are now at least.

He's still got time till noon so for now Peter switched on the Police radio and perked up at the sightings of any blond men. He was ambling into a dingy pizzeria place, ready to blatantly ignore everything the business owner told him during the minute interview. He just wanted his slip signed so he wouldn't get thrown in the psycho ward again. They didn't even have those free long sleeved outfits – such wasted potential.

When quite suddenly a tickle ran over his spine and he was leaping, shoving a teen out the way of a skidding armored truck. People screamed. Peter ran into the alleyway, shucking into his mask and glasses. He clambered up the wall, perching to watch as some goons chatted, eyes searching the crowds as the piled out the truck doors.

In their hands were backpacks, black, military strength combat backpacks which were all packed to the brim. Now the real question arose: stop the dastardly fiends and be the glorious hero who receives the love and praise of the masses; or, or (here's a kicker) he stop the dastardly fiends and keep whatever they took the time and energy to steal for himself? For scientific purposes of course, like; the mind of a criminal what does it desire? Candy from children/diamonds and rubies/plans for nuclear bombs – how was anyone to know what criminals truly craved without research! There was also that he was out of school so he should ensure he did not lose his researching capabilities. See, he was thinking ahead.

Well, when the odds are ever in sciences favor...Peter's muscles clenched in preparation for take off, already calculating his route. And then Iron Man smacked the beefiest perpetrator down to the solid ground. Iron Man hovered momentarily a roar of cheers and 'we love you Iron Man' came deafening from the crowd.

So this was what adoration was. Peter doesn't really get it.

It was all quick and simple once Iron Man arrived. The fiends pulled out guns. Civilians screamed. Iron Man killed all the robbers with tiny missiles without a backward glance.

Peter spent the majority of his time watching the criminals of Manhattan. Criminals who sometimes shot to kill without a second glance. The lines were a bit blurry in his eyes. Iron Man was a hero because the robbers had guns. Robbers had guns to get products they required, for personal or profitable gains. Well, some of them. The others just did it for the thrill. And really what was living without a little selfish danger? Iron Man had weapons, Criminals has weapons – what so differentiated them? They were both people, how could one get praised for murder and others locked up for it.

He crawled up the building to perch on the rooftop, watching as Iron Man carried the backpacks away. Guys dressed in black, guns swung over their shoulder shoved the bodies in unassuming white vans. They poked around the crime scene and were gone under in ten minutes. That was it? He was actually pretty disappointed. Being a hero didn't seem all that fun to be honest. Chasing people weaker then you, finding an excuse to kill them legally and then walking on home like a good puppy as others cleaned up your mess.

Peter exhaled, sliding onto the rooftop to park his rear against the banister. Peter knew what he wanted. He stared at the still rising sunlight, his eyes watering. What would Uncle Ben and Aunt May say about him now? Did his parents even get a vote? Peter shook his head, it didn't matter what they would have thought because he wanted to do this. He may not be able to sleep later if it was something atrocious but Loki had said he would not be used to harm anyone. Loki had destroyed Manhattan and, Peter was bored. He wanted to feel, he wanted exhilaration, and he was a teenager; if he didn't make bad decisions now, then when could he?

How was he to go about calling a god, he blinked, straightening on the gravel. Peter exhaled, “just my luck,” he slipped the glasses off fitting them securely in his pocket, slipped his hood off and repositioned his cap. Loki was a god after all so, “Loki?” he whispered. Peter cleared his throat, if he was doing this he was going to do this like a man. “Loki,” he called with more confidence. There were no fizzles of emeralds and gold; just a sun bathed rooftop. Nothing then. “It's so bright out here,” he cringed, rubbing his eyes and setting the glasses on his nose.

He stayed there for a long time. It was pleasantly breezy and the sun was warm. The gravel was rigid and uncomfortable but he was good. Peter buried his head in his raised knees, breathing deeply. He needed this. This quiet in the nosiest city in the world. Peter really needed this. He couldn't tell you what he spoke in his thoughts only the clasp in his throat was a fickle creature; coming and going as it pleases. It really sucked.

He raised his head, blinking slowly, eyes glazed over and tad too bright. The sun was setting silhouetting a tall, lean figure. Peter flinched backwards, head smacking the banister and he felt it gong like the hollow drum it was. He pressed his hands of his head, wincing. “Loki?” he kind of already knew because his spidey sense wasn't a sharp stab and more a delicate tickle. Peter rubbed the growing bruise, straightening his spine because he hadn't been raised in a barn. “Sorry I was a bit – unresponsive, um, you haven't been there long have you?”

Peter tried to steady his gaze on Loki's face but considering the sun was haloing his head – wasn't that ironic -, the view wasn't very distinct. “Long enough,” Loki's head tilted, tone turning sharply curious, “have you come to a decision Peter?” A car honked in the streets below. Peter nodded.

"Yeah, I-” he lifted his gaze to meet emeralds briefly, “I'm in.” Loki's smirk was sharp and self indulgent. Peter scratched his jaw, licked his lips. He didn't regret this already, right? Nah, well it was too late anyway. This would be fun and no one else would be getting hurt, right? He wanted to do this. It would be fine. Loki delicately outstretched a hand. Peter inhaled, sliding his fingerless gloved hands atop Loki's smooth ones, “ And away we go right?” The light hit Loki's sharp cheeks, his smirk feral.

Head tilted, he agreed, “Away we go.” His body tingled, emeralds engulfed his vision. Peter drew away from the light, Loki was a hard clamp on his hand, steadying him. Peter closed his eyes and the earth pivoted beneath him.

[]


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki bestows Peter with his first dastardly deed.

"...duck-billed dinosaurs is the most wide spread of the dinosaur groups, dating back to 70 million years ago...” The tour guide explained, tone just a tad too enthusiastic for a morning tour. It was six am. Peter didn't think they made people this cheery in the morning. It wasn't walk around and learn about fossil time. Not that Peter wasn't interested because his inner nerd really wanted to reach out and inspect the fossils closer. It was that he was bit nervous, or maybe excited.

His fingers were flexing in his pockets, the world was a tad bright and the people were separating into levels of danger. None were particularly frightening except that kid who had his hands in a blue slushie. Peter wouldn't doubt the kid had Frozone abilities because his hand had been in that cup for about ten minutes now.

He had a slim pack across his shoulders which hadn't garnered a second glance by security. Peter was sure Loki had something to do with that and the fact had the bubble of excitement whir. Loki had performed magic, because apparently magic was real. Peter really wanted to ask all sorts of obtrusive questions. After he had completed this then he would ask.

Not that what Loki had asked him to do was awful and demanded rewards for completion. Peter was actual pretty pleased with the turn of events. He had been missing something to do. A reason to use his powers was enough of a reward. Most of the time it was what took his half-hearted whim. Peter realized he needed a purpose, a reason and Loki had supplied it for him. He had realized when Loki took him over the plans. He could now say he kind of had a boner for planning action ahead of time.

Aunt May would whack him with her wooden spoon if she heard him. Oh well, it wasn't like she was around nowadays so the world was going to have to settle for lesser manners. Come on, he was a teenager, he was allowed a few profanities passes. Peter liked the idea of those, handing out profanity passes sounded like an entertaining day at Midtown High. When they were able to benefit from his presence again, of course.

The tour guide explained onwards, waving his arms with the joy of his words. Peter was glad the guy liked his job so much. Not many in his position would. He and the group were finally moving into the Hall of Planet Earth. It was all very spacey with big rocks and flat screens and big planets rotating on the ceiling. Peter sniffed, shoving his fists deeper into his pockets as the excitement twisted something in his gut.

It was about time. Loki had wanted it be done here. Peter thought it was because he wanted some less than subtle jab at how very Planet Earth was vulnerable or maybe just to bring up the last thing he had done to Planet Earth. Loki had bite that was for sure. Peter didn't really care what dig Loki was giving Earth as a whole. He just wanted a bit of the plan; the bigger picture; to be the one to execute Loki's plans because they were awesome plans. Peter saw them as tests, tests Loki had constructed but ones Peter wanted to pass for himself. To say, _yeah I can do this, I can be criminal if I want. I'm cut out for it._

Peter stopped in front of the main flat screen. So early on a work day there were only a handful of people milling around, some part of the group Peter had come with already leaving. There were camera's in all four corners, a few others scattered strategically on the ceilings. Peter smiled, his gut somewhere in his throat. He inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders. This was why it paid off to be criminal, you could take everything in your own time. No pressure; or you could prolong things as much as you pleased if you planned things correctly.

He slid the bag from his shoulder, opening it up and pulling from inside a slim case. He shifted his cap further over his face, stuffing his chin further into his olive scarf as he flicked the clicks on the case. Inside was a gleaming flute separated into three sections. Peter calmly slid them into each other, humming a tune under his breath. He had a feeling it was AC/DC but he wasn't certain. “Er, sir, you can't play that here, this is a museum,” Peter lips twitched firmly upward. The security guard called him 'sir'.

Peter clicked the last particle in it's place. The guard neared as the flute began to shimmer with a golden light which tingled his twitchy hand. Peter pressed his fingers to his palm, a web shooting out to stick the guard to one of the nearby rocks. “Haven't you ever heard it's rude to interrupt someone when they're doing something?” Peter clapped the shimmering flute against his other palm, he lifted his head to pin the guard with a look. “I'm not sure if I approve of that 'sir' you used before, you can try again.”

"Hey what are you-” Peter rolled his eyes shouldering the other guard back, grabbing a nearby civilian, twirled her around and shoved her against the guard so they fell into one of the displays. People were beginning to notice, shouting at him, some making their way to the exits speedily. Peter liked the latter ones the most. The others would not do. He wanted to relish this so that meant no outside noises. He shot a web to grab the gun strapped to the guards hip, twirling it on his palm and raising it above his head for three loud warning shots. His bones were rattling and his heart was pouncing in his chest and he was pretty sure he was deaf in one ear but that felt amazing.

"Get the idea now!? This is a take-over! So move along people,” people screamed, scrambling to get out. Obviously no one could hear his good cheer. “Come on, come on, quickly now. Don't forget your purse mam,” he hung it from the ceiling above the doorway, grinning as the woman jumped up to grab it and rushed out. That woman's got her priorities straight, losing a purse in this economy was suicide. The lot of them were gone in a few minutes. He knew he didn't have long till the police came but he took the time to stretch his arms behind his head for satisfying pop, gun still loose in his hand. “Guess it's just you and me now buddy,” he told the guard plastered to the rock, “Don't look so grim, this is going great.” He assured with a laugh flexing his fingers around the flute in his hands which was in fact no longer a flute but a pillar.

It's top was round, panels enclosing an azure crystal. The pillar's length had emerald wires weaving in and out from the hard black paneling. The bottom was shaped as a long spear, glinting in the reflection of the flat screen. Peter raised the pillar back in a wide arch, he grinned, “might wanna cover your eyes for this buddy,” he told the guard, slamming the pillar into the obsidian floor.

The floor cracked but the pillar did not wedge. “Hang on a minute,” he raised a hand for a moment at the man hanging from the rock. He rolled his shoulder, working out the shutter that had shaken his arm at the hit. This floor was harder then he anticipated. “Here we go,” he checked on the sweating guard, Peter smiled, “oh come on, you gotta admit this day is going in your scrap book.” He raised the pillar again, clenching his jaw and slamming it down again. It sunk and wedged in the floor. Peter grinned, setting his hand over the crystal and the panels securing it opened to reveal glinting blades. The crystal glowed in time with his exhilarated heart.

He knew it was going to happen but he still winced as the crystal bit into the palm of his hand. Peter's fingers were already tingling with his adrenaline. The azure crystal bled into the crimson of Peter's blood. The suck and tug of the crystal was not really welcome but he kept a hand on his wrist to steady the trembling palm. He watched as the crystal was almost completely red, “come on just a little bit more.” As the final karat bled crimson Peter's palm was released. He peered at the tiny bite at the center of his palm, blood smudged on the rim. He sucked it into his mouth as the crystal pulsated, the emerald wires flashing. He spoke to the guard on the rock around the palm in his mouth, “you should probably get out of here. Things gonna blow,” the guard began struggling harder against the bio-cable. It didn't budge.

Peter stared at his palm, smiling at the lack of wound and carefully slipped his fingerless gloves on. The pillar was creating the strangest of hacking noises, a high kneeing pitch crawled into his head and died there. Peter lifted his palms in surrender, “seriously you should get out of here it'll be pretty bad when it blows,” he shouted over the noise. The guard was struggling fiercely, something about that was just kind of funny. He rolled his head, raising his hands above it as he heard the faint yell of police on the scene. This was so goddam fun. “Fine if that's what you want, stay there all you like,” and Peter, snickering all the while, leaped onto the wall above the entrance. “Oh, almost forgot,” he mumbled, shooting a web to cover the guards mouth.

The police stalked through the door, guns raised and bullet proof jackets strapped on. As if that would do anything. The pillar was shaking, the blood red crystal beginning to crack. The guard jostled at the webs, unable to move as he nodded in the direction above the door. Peter pressed a finger to his grinning lips. One of the police up front, straightened his spine at the glowing and thrashing pillar, “Anyone know what the hell that thing is?”

As if designated to activate at the words the pillar halted, clinking further into the tiles and then it began spinning, crushing downwards, spewing crimson sparks. It crushed through the tiles, disappearing hastily, whirring and spitting the whole while. There was a secondary crash as the pillar began working on the ground floor, the kneeing screech rattling his brain. Some officers even fell to their knees to curl up in on themselves – that was such a strange defense mechanism; exposing your neck like that. Peter felt kind of bad about the guard so he covered the man's ears with some bio cable.

He inhaled deeply; dust, musk, minerals and electricity swirled in the air. Peter smiled, giving himself a pat on the back. He clambered out the entrance, crawling on the walls and crushing cameras as he went until he stopped at a window. The boys in blue were out there, jabbering on their walkies like eight year old's and Peter felt this weird type of pride rising in his chest. He had caused this. They had come in an effort to stop him.

Still grinning he crept through an air vent, working his way to the top and lifting his mask from under his scarf over his nose. He clenched his fist, hoping to feel the bite in his palm even though he knew it was already healed. Peter made it to the rooftops and took a running leap, swinging through the streets and ignoring the belated yell of cops.

The wind cooled the adrenaline pumping through his body. Peter wanted to grin and laugh, but there was this strange nagging at the back of his brain that sounded awfully like Uncle Ben. Peter shook him off, inhaling heavily and crawling up the side of the next office building. Peter grinned at the occupants behind the glass, watching as they jumped and startled, phones hanging off their ears and coffee in their grip. He nodded to each of them. He had respect for the metropolitan life; it didn't seem fun so any able to live like that were already ahead of him in his book. He clambered up the rest of the wall, taking a daring drop only to swing up at the last second, feet almost catching on the top of a cafe. He hollered in exhilaration.

Too soon he landed at the meeting sight, right on one of those roof tank water reservoirs, cheeks flushed and throat sore from his calls. Peter laughed, sitting down. Okay, he really needed to calm down. He pulled his mask down, slipping off the tank to park his rear under it. It had worked just like Loki had said it would, which was a relief in itself. Everything else had been...fun, really fun. He owned that arena. He was the boss man. Peter exhaled half laughing and half wondrous as he leaned against one of the tanks legs. He couldn't wait to do that again.

"It appears you're not completely useless,” Loki greeted. Peter chuckled, running his hands through his hair as the god appeared before him with a shimmer.

"Apparently,” he shrugged. Grinning and feeling his eyes twinkling with adrenaline as Loki intense gaze smothered him. In a fracture of a second, Loki was perched upon a high-backed throne-like chair, arms and legs folded gracefully. Peter regained his breathing, not even trying to control his grin. “I gotta thank you for letting me do this, so yeah, thank you” Loki's gaze was intelligent and unreadable.

"Do not thank me yet, you may come to hate what you have become.” Loki supplied, long fingers digging a little too deeply in his biceps to be completely indifferent or lacking empathy.

Peter shrugged, staring at the drifting clouds, lopsided smile sliding, “Maybe but, I will be who I need to be at that point so...” he shrugged, “I might not like who I'll become but I'll need to be that guy to make it and I'm okay with that,” he shrugged again, imagining himself battling heroes or resting in a ditch from wounds. It didn't really matter. “I don't regret saying 'yes',” he assured, smiling crookedly and pointedly looking at Loki. “And I won't in the future.”

Loki's was relaxed in the chair though his shoulder were a bit too tense, his eyes a bit too harsh and his smile a bit to feral. “So you say now. What would happen should those worthless heroes decide to appeal to your inner child, should offer you a way out from the destruction you will reap?”

Loki got like this sometimes, his biting remarks pointedly glaring at holes Peter may not have wanted to dwell on. Peter appreciated it even if that was not what Loki wanted. It caused him to always glance at his reasons and discover the truth about himself. Only these types of questions had frequented a lot more often in the past week. It was kind of annoying. “My inner child likes chaos and a good laugh so it won't be going to no heroes mansion and any 'destruction' I may 'reap' will be my own so I will live with the consequences of my actions.” Peter smiled lightly, shifting on the ground, “did I pass?”

Loki smirked though the twinkle did not reach his eyes, “at present.” Peter exhaled, rubbing his thumb where he had been bitten. “You have healed completely yes?” Loki asked, eyes narrowed as if trying to detect bullshit. Peter had no doubt he could, so he nodded. “I was observing from the screens,” aah, he thought so, nice for him to confirm earlier suspicions though. “You blabber too long at you opponents; leave it tasteful Peter. I removed the sound so they could not trace your vocals, ensure next time that there are no quality microphones if you wish to idle.”

Peter nodded hastily, “Aye, aye captain.” His grin softened, “Thanks Loki.”

Loki's brows furrowed further, “Never call me 'Captain'.” Peter nodded hastily.

"Got it, got it, sorry.” Loki's lips twitched, eyes glinting yet face impassive. Peter would pay good money to know how to do that.

The god rose, a thin, long ebony cane appearing in his clasped hands, he leaned on it easily. “I suggest you do not idle at the following location,” considering that was the closest thing to a 'be careful' he had heard in a long while Peter smiled hesitantly, nodding. Loki bestowed him one more impervious look and vanished in a flare of emerald.

Peter relaxed as the adrenaline rush withered, heart no longer pacing in it's cage. “That was awesome,” he breathed. In the glare of the noon summer sun Peter peeled his hoodie off, checking how badly he smelt and his clothes smelt before shrugging. “I won't be suffocating anytime soon,” he commented pleasantly to empty air. Peter relaxed there a long while, replaying the events with a grin. He had owned that room, he was the boss man. No one could deny that. Peter smiled crookedly, licking his lips.

He stared at the clear blue skies and dancing clouds absently noticing it was closer to the afternoon rather then noon at this point. Peter opened his mouth as if to speak. His eyes wandered downwards and he closed his lips. With a heavy sigh he hoisted himself up, flicking the tiny pebbles on his jeans off and stretching loudly. “This was good day...” he stomach let out a hunger pang, “and I'm starving,” he groaned, slipping his hoodie on and securing his mask on.

He was in the mood for ice cream, who wasn't in the mood for ice cream? If he ever had rein over a small village (what was he saying, if he worked with Loki he would get a mini city) he would make ice cream the national food. It would be required to eat ice cream at least once a day. There, no one would be able to say he didn’t have the public’s interest at heart.

It was a matter of minutes in which he swung from rooftops and helped entertain those imprisoned to the 'devil kill me now' traffic jams. He had webbed together a chibi version of himself on a nearby apartment complex and saluted the kids waving from the cars. He landed atop the traffic lights, peering at them in a which obscured the view (and my was he getting honked, ears heating from the attention.) He leaped away soon enough, cackling at the faces he had drawn on the lights. Soon enough he was landing in a pungent stinking alley, way too pleased with his accomplishments.

Nothing had gone wrong today. That had to be a sign he was on the right path right? Nothing exploded, he had an audience, people listened to him. Yep, (to quote Project Runway which had cornered him when he was sick a few years back) he could make this work and his execution would be flawless.

Soon enough he grabbed some change from a busy body man yelling on his phone, he wouldn't miss the few dollars. If he knew his money would be going to a good cause, maybe he would stop shouting in public when there were no aliens invading. Peter bought a cone of mint ice cream with too much chocolate sauce and sprinkles from the vendor. The vendor was frankly intimidatingly pretty, long curling blond locks pulled back in a pony tail accompanied by a flawless raised eyebrow. Some reason that eyebrow reminded him of Loki and there was no way he would ever bring that up to the god. He patted his stomach, happy he could avert any innards yanking (something Loki threatened to do when he babbled too much.)

Peter settled on a bench, thoroughly enjoying himself if not for the blaring horns not too far away. Ice cream dripped down his thumb and he licked it away, freezing as an elder lady shot him a disapproving look. Ears red, he supported, maybe lowering his enthusiasm.

Once the cone was gone he inhaled deeply, shoving his hands in his pockets and practically skipping down the streets. There was a couple standing at his destination when he arrived, he quietly saddled beside them staring at the TV screens in the shop window, just as the opening credits for the news flashed off and an aesthetically pleasing woman began reciting from behind a desk. There were subtitles along the bottom. Peter watched and waited as she ran through what would be seen on that episode, missing most of it.

First, as always, was a montage of the lives lost in the alien invasion, as the list was still ongoing yet bound to end soon. Fists tight in his pockets he hunched over. He was working for the person who had done that. The majority of lives had been taken by crumbling buildings, not Loki himself of course. It didn't seem to matter because Peter always felt this shame worm up his throat and when accompanied by Uncle Ben's voice manifested into guilt. But that was really stupid, he had nothing to be guilty about. He wasn't the one who did those things. And Peter liked working for Loki. It was important to him, to do this.

Second came the praises for the Avengers, as they were named (and that was a really peculiar name because it seemed there job was to wait for things to go down and only then take vengeance, overall it would be best to put a stop to things before they went down. Guess the idea was not a popular one.)

It was only after those that the reporter led them to current events. Apparently some twenty year old newlyweds had found a thumb inside a can of sweetcorn and were getting paid big bucks. Peter pierced his lips to keep from laughing at the couple, they had a picture of the thumb framed. To 'always remember the thumb that paid our student loans' obviously, because apparently that’s what people did when they found unknown thumbs in their corn.

After was his time to shine with a few other happenings that occurred earlier that morning. The reporter mentioned a break-in at the Museum of Natural History but noted nothing irreplaceable had been stolen and that was that. That's it? He had used a magical device to drill a hole through planet Earth! Peter had worked hard and he barely got a minute of screen time for his troubles.

Peter exhaled, sulking away. He would just have to up his game. He shrugged to himself, eyes wavering upwards. He had been planning to up his game anyway, for his next station would be a bit trickier. Aah, it was nothing Delinquent couldn't handle. The name was really starting to grow on him.

It was as he wandered the streets, turning in his head all possible outcomes for his next expedition that the sense at the back of his neck almost jarred him into a post. No one had noticed so Peter swiftly sneaked into an alleyway tossed on his getup and began swinging in the direction of the disturbance.

The disturbance had come from the bridge which as it was a staggeringly vulnerable part of the city (as all bridges were) did little to surprise him initially. It was as he neared, slinking up the cords of the bridge, flat surfaces getting further and further away; that had him pulling a face. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” he pondered, blocking out the screams of civilians as they were long past danger.

Peter flew, skidding down a cord and landing atop a truck not to far from the beast. It seemed reptilian, with scales and the whole shebang, a thick mindless tail whacking and denting the car doors. His head tilted. Just watching for now, mapping its movements and intentions just as Loki had advised him to always do. The creature ignored all humans in his way, pushing past heavier obstacles, intent and firm of moving forward. Peter doubted the creature was heading towards the other side, there were easier ways out of Manhattan. And then Peter noticed the case gripped in the creatures talons. Bingo.

He jumped onto another car closer, just watching as the creature smashed it's way through the cars, tipping some over the bridge and shoving other away in frustration. Peter caught them quickly with his cable, patting the latest in place. He galloped forward following the snarling creature. It was fascinating. Whatever this thing was it was no longer human, more lizard than human. The thing stomped in a distinct pattern, slithering past the mostly gone public and disappearing soon after.

He scratched his jawline, should he had tried to stop it? It's not like it was hurting people, more like it was just unaware of it's own strength and was dually ill tempered. Peter could give the guy some slack cause it wasn't a lizard's world (it was a man's world.) It was probably natural for the creature to be a bit agitated; cross species had there own set of issues and maybe the guy was just lonely. Peter shrugged at his own thoughts, rolling his head on his shoulders and heading back to the suspended cars. They swung well in the breeze and if Peter had the energy he would have tossed more cars over the bridge to create a necklace of giant proportions.

His maybe plans were caught short by a parental yell, a man was clenching the bridges edge, peering over it to the car suspended below. Peter tilted his head, watching. The man yelled again, seeming two steps away from climbing down the cable.

Peter swung onto the car the man was shouting at, only to have the distinct feeling his eardrums were being hammered. He yanked the back window out easily. “Hey, hey kid!” the kid stopped, peering over his shoulder fearfully. Peter crawled in slowly, the strong aroma of gas wasn't doing wonders on his brain. “I'm gonna get you outta here, kay buddy?” The kid froze, trembling slightly as a small flame danced by the hood. That wasn't good. “Okay,” he began cheerfully, grabbing a hold of the kids seat belt. “Put your arms out for me buddy, catch the seat, now!” The belt snapped easily and the kid fumbled against the seat in front of him.

He patted his own chest, other hand curled tightly around the back of the seat. “I need you to hold onto me buddy so we can get you back to you Dad, safe and sound,” the kid's bottom lip was trembling but it looked like he recognized what Peter was asking him. “Great, come on, let's get you to Dad,” and while the words ripped something old in his chest the kid was coming forward, wrapping his arms around Peter's neck.

Peter held on tight. Under the hood something was sizzling with a crack and a pop. Peter clambered out the back seat, “don't let go, you hear m-” and the car exploded into flames. The kid yelled and Peter leaped into empty air. For a few seconds the world ceased to move, there was silence. Peter whipped out a new cable, whooping his exhilaration and landing atop the bridge in a swinging leap. That was why Peter loved to swing.

The kid's head was buried so far deep in Peter's shoulder he didn't hear his Dad calling him until hands took him from Peter's arm and the kid curled into his father. Peter smiled softly, a touch of regret and clasp in his throat. He left as the man turned to him, mouth open with words Peter didn't want to hear.

A burst of spitting wind later Peter was backed up against his old house. He didn't know why he had gone there. Just knew he needed to. He crept over the roof, practically glaring at the cheery 'For Sale' sign posted out front. He peered in through the windows, unlatching the one to his room with practiced ease.

He didn't go in though, he just waited, staring at the inside of the room he grew up in, barren from everything. His eyes stung, the clasp in his throat from earlier tightened to a thick knot. The air was never enough in his chest and his fingers clawed the window frame.

Peter ducked his head. He inhaled sharply. Knowing he could not return to the group house, at least not tonight. Very carefully, as if he feared each step, he entered his old bedroom. There was debris and dust on the floorboards, a sock and some old homework he had forgotten there. He stubbornly kept his gaze down, not daring to glance at the door to his room. He shut the window behind him, blocking the nightly sounds. In heavy silence he crumpled into the shadowed corner of the empty room he had been raised in, the moon illuminating the nothingness in the room.

He buried his head in his knees, wrapped his arms around his knees and relished in the cold nothing he felt.

[]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, tada, any thoughts are welcome.


End file.
